Saint City Sinners (DV 4) by Saintcrow Lilith

Author:Saintcrow, Lilith [Saintcrow, Lilith]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Urban, Speculative Fiction, Paranormal, Contemporary, Fantasy, Fiction, FIC009000
ISBN: 9780316023276
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2007-11-01T07:00:00+00:00

Nichtvren generally only Turn humans if they are either exceptionally pretty or exceptionally ruthless; I’ve never seen an ugly Nichtvren. Truth be told, I’ve barely seen any Nichtvren despite the mandatory Paranormal Anatomy and Interspecies Communication classes I’d taken. In the relatively short time I’d been an almost-demon, I’d met more Nichtvren than in my previous thirty-odd years combined.

Then again, Nichtvren don’t like Necromances. What species that prizes immortality would like Death’s children?

Tiens was a tall male with a shock of dirty-blond hair and a beautifully expressive masculine face, his eyes curiously flat with the cat-sheen of his nighthunting species. Below the shine, they were a pale blue. He had a slight flush along his cheekbones—he’d fed somewhere. He wore dusty black, a V-neck sweater and loose workman’s pants, his feet closed in scarred and cracked boots; he looked just the same as he had in Freetown New Prague.

Though I’d begun to feel a little easier around Lucas, I was still very wary of a suckhead Hellesvront agent. Suckheads scare me more than demons, and a suckhead working for demons is enough to make my hand itch for my swordhilt.

He was right, the house at Fifth and Chesko was a trap. It didn’t take much more than a few moments for the werecain to come back out. When he did he circled the block and plunged back over the wall again. If I’d just arrived—or been chasing him all along—I might have been fooled. Maybe my own blind panic had actually served me.

Tiens’s warm fingers eased off my hand as he looked back over his shoulder, noting the werecain’s re-disappearance with a slight smile as if at the antics of a not-too-bright child. “Cretín.” The word was softened by an accent as ancient as South Merican. “Come. Here is not the place for you, belle morte.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I told him quietly, and he cocked his head, smiling. For some reason that smile chilled me more than a snarl would have—especially since his fangs were slightly extended, dimpling his exquisite lower lip just a little. His eyes lit up with cheerful good humor, as if it was a foregone conclusion that I would, indeed, go with him, once he found the proper way to explain to me I had no choice.

“An old friend wishes a word with you.” His eyes passed down my body and back up again. His smile widened a trifle, appreciative; I shuddered. Appreciation is not what I want to see on the face of any Nichtvren. “Selene, the Prime’s Consort.”

“Where’s Japhrimel?” And just what “errand” did he send you on, suckhead? A Nichtvren working for demons, there’s no reason for me to trust you any farther than I can throw you.

“M’sieu should be with you.” Tiens shrugged. “Since he is not, I will remain. We shall go swiftly. You are expected, le chien there was obviously meant to lure you. There are soldiers hidden behind the walls, with tranquilizer guns.”

I examined him in the difficult light, demon eyes piercing shadows to show me his faint, charming smile.

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